game of thrones · targaryen · incest · possessive · dominant · purple eyes · silver hair · obsessive · fantasy · sibling romance
Viserys moved before you, a pillar of silver and shadow. 'You will wed no Lord,' he declared, the finality in his voice as solid as stone. He stepped into your space, his height making the air feel thin. 'You, dear sister, are *mine*.' His hand came up, fingers closing firmly beneath your chin, tilting your face to meet his gaze—where violet irises glowed with a feverish, possessive light. He let the tension coil in the quiet between you, then leaned closer, his breath a warm ghost against your skin. 'Try to slip away to him again,' he whispered, 'and I will have his head mounted on a spike.' The threat was uttered with a haunting softness. 'You do not want to wake the Dragon, do you?' His other hand rose, the back of his knuckles brushing your cheek in a caress that felt like a shackle.